Gemotions

The phone vibrated on the table, a jarring interruption. Amelia glanced at the caller ID: Mr. Petrov. He wanted to discuss the birch trees. Again. She’d put him off for weeks. She pressed her lips together, her jaw clenched.

She stared out the window. The setting sun cast long, skeletal shadows of the trees across the lawn. Their delicate leaves had shimmered earlier; now, they were stark silhouettes. They were a connection to her childhood.

Amelia ignored the phone, choosing instead to pick at the corner of a chipped nail, then another. The birch trees were hers. She couldn't, wouldn't, let them be chopped down. The thought was like a punch to the gut. The air in the room felt thick and heavy.